Second Option
by hyperpsychomaniac
Summary: Cortes arrives on Mila's doorstep and she readily invites him inside. Cortes casts a furtive glance over his shoulder before stepping through the door. So what exactly are they up to? One shot.


**A/n: **Not sure where the idea for this came from... but started writing it and it actually turned out somewhat decent. Had fun writing it too... XD As always, review are appreciate it, would love to hear what you think. :)

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Mila was making tea when the knock at her door came. Smiling slightly at the sound, she finished, carefully, to pour the last few precious drops of water out of the kettle and into the teacups to draw. That task complete she padded in bare feet to the door. As comfortable and practical as her overalls were they were far less so in the steaming hot weather Puerto Angel currently endured. Though it was twilight it was still warm, and as she did not plan on leaving the house again that night Mila had slipped into a cool summer dress. She'd bought it from Patrucci in a bout of nostalgia, having never seen such a pretty, impractical little thing in years.

Reaching the door Mila pulled it open finding, as she'd expected, Cortes on her doorstep. He was shifting his weight agitatedly between each foot, but as she appeared he stilled, his eyes noticeably roving over her. He'd probably been expecting her customary overalls.

"Hello…" she smiled, amused by the man's obvious distraction.

Cortes blinked. The spell he was under broke and he glanced again over his shoulder, his agitation returning. "Repairs on the Saint Nazaire are finished," he grumbled. "I don't have anything else I need to chase up tonight… provided Wayan remembers to do up the Mosquito pilots' duty rosters…"

Mila rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he will. And if he doesn't, it's not the end of the world, is it?"

Cortes grunted.

"So are you coming in or not?" Mila didn't wait for a reply, but stepped back into the house. She heard Cortes stomp in behind her, and she imagined he must have cast one last suspicious glance over his shoulder before closing the door. Honestly, if he was worried someone would find his visits abnormal he was certainly doing nothing to dispel the notion. "I've made some tea…"

Cortes let out a loud huff. "I really wish you wouldn't do that. Water's scarce enough without boiling half it off and turning the rest into a diuretic…"

"That's why you shouldn't drink it before bed time," Mila teased.

"That's not what I meant." He was standing in the living room, looking up at the ceiling and seemed to be listening. "So did you manage to find your kids something to do…?"

Mila stepped up to him, grasping his collar in her hands. She pulled him down, pressing her lips to his. She felt his slight shock, and then he relaxed, pressing back against her. After a moment their lips parted with a soft, wet smack.

Cortes smiled. "I guess I'll take that as a yes…"

The tea was forgotten. Within moments Mila had stripped through the layers of Cortes' uniform. Her thin dress offered him almost no resistance whatsoever. They pressed their bodies together, hearts pumping as they grew more and more aroused. Ten minutes later they both lay on the sofa, their bodies sweat-soaked and heaving. The living room may have not been the ideal location for their romp, but it had been hard enough for them to find some time to get together alone. The possibility of being walked in on hadn't occurred to either of them; and they were content to lie intertwined together on the sofa, despite the ambient warmth.

This had all started about a month ago. Ever since Mila had returned from her imprisonment by the Sphere she and Cortes had spent a fair amount of time talking. It was only natural. After all, they were old friends and each had not seen the other in years. There was catching up to do, and not all of it was pleasant. The world they lived in could be cruel, particularly to those who intentionally set themselves against the Sphere. She had always known it, but Mila had come to realise that her life in Babylonia, and even her imprisonment, had sheltered her from the worst of it.

One night, as they'd sat in the tavern talking together, Cortes had opened up. They'd been discussing how the rebellion had changed, or rather, Mila was. Cortes had been rather quiet. When she'd noticed how reserved he was, she'd asked him if he wanted to change the subject. Cortes had sighed and shaken his head no in reply. Then he'd quietly described the biggest change he'd noticed; and proceeded to list anyone he could remember they'd lost since the rebellion's original downfall. The list had gone on for quite some time; all the while Cortes continued in an uncharacteristically subdued tone and wouldn't look Mila in the eye. When he'd finished he'd sat there with the deepest look of sadness in his eyes, though the rest of his face was all but expressionless.

Mila realised then that while she'd loved and admired Marcus for his passion; Cortes was committed in a way her lover had never been. How else could one stand by and watch so many of their friends die, but still keep fighting because it was the only way things would change? No, she'd thought, that was a little unfair. Marcus wasn't completely uncommitted. He was just gone. It was at that moment that Mila comprehended a fact that, again, she had actually known for quite some time. Marcus was dead. It was the only explanation. And then, after a brief moment where she'd stared at the tabletop with the same sadness clouding her eyes, she'd quietly told Cortes this is what she believed.

After that conversation they'd both stolen away to Cortes' cabin on the Saint Nazaire. Mila couldn't remember who had suggested it, or who had led the other, but they'd both known what was going to happen when they arrived.

Ever since that night they'd been stealing furtive meetings. Their day to day interactions remained much the same; they'd talked a lot before, and they continued to do so now. It was what had been added to their relationship that they kept secret. If they could have, as she and Marcus had done, they would have let their liaison be known as lovers normally do; kisses in public, and holding hands. But on the third night they'd slept together, still secretly simply because this was something new, Mila had come to a decision. She'd told Cortes they couldn't let anyone know, not yet anyway. Mila had noticed Mahad glaring at Cortes after the captain had had one of his long conversations with her. Though she was positive her son could not guess at the full extent of their relationship, Mila had known it bothered him. Admitting to either of her children she and Cortes were lovers would mean admitting Marcus was gone for good. It would be hard on both of her children, and Mahad most of all. It would have to be done sometime if the relationship turned out to be serious, but it did not have to be done now. To Mila's relief, Cortes had agreed.

So it was that they kept sneaking around, stealing time together whenever they could. In some ways it was annoying; but it did have its advantages. When they did get time together neither had any hesitation to throw themselves into the others arms and to rip off each their clothing. It was just a little bit exciting.

"Damn…" said Cortes, shifting beneath her and startling Mila from her thoughts.

"What is it?" Mila asked. She slid aside to let Cortes sit up.

Cortes twisted around to look into the kitchen. "I think you let the tea get cold…"

"Oh, _I_ let the tea get cold?" Mila smirked. "Well, maybe if someone hadn't been distracting me…"

Cortes looked slightly miffed, but smiled good-naturedly. "I can't help it if you're so easily distracted by… this…" He gestured down his body, which was still completely naked. It was probably about the closest the man could come to a dirty joke, and it was enough to set Mila snickering behind her hand.

Cortes grumbled something unintelligible, perhaps guessing that some of his lover's amusement was at his attempt at the joke, and not the actual joke itself. He pushed up from the sofa.

"Now where are you going?"

"I'm going to reheat that tea. I'm assuming you didn't intend to throw it out."

Mila sighed. "Well…"

Cortes glared at her, and she decided not to finish that sentence. The man was now looking about him, eyes searching the floor. "Now where the hell did you manage to put my pants…"

"How should I know? Besides, you don't need your pants to make tea… in fact, I wouldn't mind if you went and made it without them…"

Cortes fixed her with another glare, though Mila could see the humour behind his eyes and knew he was trying to think of some retort. He never got that far though, because there was a sudden loud noise from outside followed by shouting.

"Damn it, Mahad! Can't you just walk in a straight line?" Dahlia's voice came from just outside the front window, and she was obviously angry.

"Well pardon me for wanting a walk a lady home… but I guess you're not much of a lady…" Mahad replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I'll show you how unladylike I can be in a minute!"

There was another clatter and Mila could hear her son curse; she guessed he'd just earned himself a cuff. For a second a bemused smile had started to form on her face, but then there was another noise. The sound of the front door rattling as it was clumsily opened.

She and Cortes did not even exchange a glance. In less than a second Mila had located her slip of a dress and tossed it over her shoulders. She tugged it down around her hips just as the front door slammed loudly shut. Thank God for the person who had invented dresses! It occurred to her that Cortes could not get dressed so easily, and she glanced over her shoulder. Cortes was gone. Mila looked about, and thought she saw the sofa jiggled slightly as if bumped.

"Hi, Mum." Mahad's voice brought her neck snapping back around before she could further ascertain Cortes' whereabouts. Her son was rubbing the back of his head, ruffling his greasy hair into a mess. He paused as he stepped into the living area. "You alright?"

Mila leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look flushed; sure you don't want some water or something? I could use some water," he muttered, and headed past her into the kitchen.

"No…!" Mila started, fearing as Mahad walked past the sofa he might find wherever Cortes had hidden himself.

Her son wasn't paying attention to much of anything in the living room however, and only gave a curious glance at his mother's apparent distress. "Aren't you always telling me I have to get things for myself instead of expecting you to do it? Jeesh, I can't win today."

He was rummaging under the counter in search of water bottles and Mila took the opportunity to steal a glance at the sofa. She spied Cortes' jacket in the middle of the floor and her eyes widened.

"Cortes would have a fit," Mahad said.

"Pardon?" said Mila, placing herself hastily between the kitchen and the suspicious item of clothing.

"You left some tea out. He'd have some rant about wasting water. I mean, look at these things, they barely hold anything!" Mahad picked up the two teacups and tipped them down the sink. He made no comment about the fact there were two teacups out, nor did the thought even seem to cross his mind.

Mila glanced again behind her, expecting some audible sound of annoyance from Cortes. Instead she caught sight of what must have been his pants, one leg hanging out from the front edge of the sofa. She was just wondering how she'd shield those from Mahad's gaze along with the jacket, when they suddenly jerked towards the sofa and disappeared. Well, at least she was sure now where Cortes was. And at least he was now in possession of his pants.

"Here." Mila looked up in time to see Mahad toss a water bottle towards her.

She grabbed it out of the air. "Thanks…"

Mahad took a gulp from his bottle. "I'm going up to my room," he said when he'd finished. "I need to sleep… got up too early."

Mila nodded, stifling a sigh of relief. "Sure. Have a good nights sleep, honey."

Mahad headed out of the kitchen and started heading up the staircase. Then he paused on the bottom step. "Hey…" he started, twirling the water bottle in his hands as he thought, "is it just me or… does Cortes seem to be talking to you a lot?"

Mila laughed, perhaps a little too long. "Of course we talk," she said quickly as Mahad glared at her; perhaps thinking she wasn't taking him seriously. "We've known each other a long time you know; it's good to see him again."

Mahad nodded slowly, though he didn't seem convinced. "Yeah, okay. I just thought… well… I'd almost say I got the impression he liked you or something. But that would be silly. He might not be too bright, but I'm sure he realises Dad's got to turn up sooner or later. And you're too good for him anyway."

"Mahad!" Mila scolded, a tone of parental reprimand tinging her voice despite her nervousness.

"It's true! Whatever… I'm going to bed. It's probably just me." Her son padded quickly up the stairs and then his bedroom door slammed.

Mila let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, then bent down and picked up Cortes jacket.

The sofa made a scraping noise across the floor. Cortes had pushed it aside in his haste to get out from behind it. He was flushed, more so than he had been after their romp. In fact he was positively red in the face. He'd managed to get his pants back on, and his white undershirt, though this was twisted and skewed about his torso. Mila had been tempted to giggle at their close call, but after one look at Cortes she thought it best not to. "Come on," she said gently. "Mahad didn't mean…"

"I don't give a damn what he thinks," Cortes growled, his voice low.

"He looks up to his father…"

"Of course he does. His father's Marcus Farrell!" Cortes snapped out. He was still angry, or embarrassed, Mila was unsure which.

"Settle down! He's just…"

"This isn't about Mahad!" He stepped forward and grabbed at his jacket, and Mila caught him by the arm.

"Shh… then what?"

Cortes seemed to calm slightly at her touch; at least he didn't sound like he would break out shouting and alert Mahad to his presence. He swallowed. "This!" He tossed his free hand in the air, encompassing everything and nothing at the same time. "This is absolutely ridiculous! We can't even get a moment together without me having to hide under your sofa like we're a couple of damn teenagers!"

"It won't be like that forever! When I'm sure my kids…"

"When you're sure of what exactly? Marcus is either coming back or he isn't, Mila. You need to figure that out for yourself, not your kids…" He made a grab for his jacket again, but Mila held on tight.

"Now you're being ridiculous. If I had even the slightest ray of hope Marcus was still alive, do you think I'd be here with you now?"

Cortes swallowed hard and looked down at the floor, and Mila realised what she'd said.

"Aran, wait, I didn't mean…"

Cortes gave his jacket a sudden, sharp tug, releasing it from Mila's grip. "I've already got to look after one kid that's not even mine because I was a woman's second option; and while I wouldn't give Cheng up for the world…" he shook his head. "I don't have to put up with being second option to a dead man." He pulled away, stomping towards the door. He paused as he reached it, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders and straightening his dishevelled clothing.

Mila followed, straining her mind to think of something, anything, she could say that might take away the sting of her ill-thought out comment. "Aran…" was as far as she got.

"It's Cortes," the pirate captain huffed, still not willing to meet Mila's eyes. He pushed against the doorknob and stepped out into the stuffy night air. He did not look back.

Mila shook her head, watching the man's retreating back. "Idiot…" she muttered, closing her eyes briefly. She wasn't quite sure if she meant herself, because as the sound left her lips she felt that some of her anger was directed towards Cortes.


End file.
